Pepito

The moon is a bright silver plate.
The stars are a scatter of crumbs.
My darling, it’s bedtime - too late
For cymbals and drums.
The bugle is losing its puff.
The horse is too tired to bow.
My darling, it’s bedtime - enough
Of battles for now.

Your poor little shoes need a break
From running and marching all day.
My darling, tomorrow they’ll wake
And take you away
To places of wonder and fun:
No soldiers, no trenches, no fear.
My darling, tomorrow the sun
Will sprinkle its cheer

On rivers with lilies and reeds,
On rainbows that sing in the breeze,
On tiny invisible seeds
That grow into trees,
On beautiful creatures that glow 
And flutter in colourful swarms.
My darling, it’s bedtime – no foes, 
No wars.

Escucha la voz de la noche oscura.
Te dice: la guerra es una locura,
Es una tristeza enorme sin cura,
Sin fin ni dulzura,
My darling.

Goya - Jos; Costa y Bonells (died 1870), Called Pepito, c.1810